Teacher's Pet
by whoa nellie
Summary: Picard engages in some extracurricular activity with his favorite archaeology professor.


Title: Teacher's Pet   
Author: Whoa Nellie (whoa_nellie40@hotmail.com)   
Series: TNG   
New   
Rating: R   
Codes: P/Vash   
Summary: PWP. Plot and plot, what is plot? Picard engages in some extracurricular activity with his favorite archaeology professor. 

Author's notes: Feel free to archive to any pertinent site.   
As always: Paramount owns all the marbles, we just have a lot more fun playing with them.   
Feedback is always appreciated - posted or e-mail. 

*This is an edited version. If you are over 18 and would like to read the NC-17 version, it can be found at the Picard/Vash Romance Fan Fiction website listed on our author's page. 

Teacher's Pet 

Less than twenty minutes after the Enterprise E established a standard orbit around Kendra II, Captain Jean-Luc Picard was making his way through the bustling corridors of The Hawking Institute for Interstellar Sciences. He quickly spotted Lieutenant Kennely standing next to the entrance of a large lecture hall. The young security officer's military stance stiffened slightly as Picard approached him. 

"Sir? The Enterprise wasn't due to arrive for another twenty-four hours," Kennely said. 

"The transfer of personnel and equipment to Starbase 219 went very smoothly, putting us almost a day ahead of schedule," Picard informed him. The sounds of a scholarly lecture could be heard coming from the hall. "You're relieved, Lieutenant." 

"Aye, sir," Kennely replied with a nod. 

Slipping inside the door, Picard stood concealed in the shadows to quietly watch the end of the lecture from the back of the hall. A large viewscreen on the front wall displayed diagrams of three archaeological sites, the Sakethan Burial Mounds on Calder II, the Debrune ruins on Barradas III, and a site in the Gamma Quadrant's Verath system. Each diagram was marked to illustrate common obstacles and hazards associated with interstellar field archaeology. The lecturer, Archaeology Councilmember Vash Picard, stood in front of the view screen. Her brunette hair was pulled back in a professional-looking French twist underscoring the delicate features of her face. The tailored lines of her brown tweed suit were softened by graceful curves of her feminine silhouette. The skirt fell just above her knees, and light-brown, velvet piping accented the deep V neckline of the double-breasted jacket over a crisp white blouse. With her head held high and her shoulders squared, her voice resonated through the hall with the poised authority of expertise. 

"I will finish these three weeks of lectures on field procedures the same way I began them by reminding you that seventy percent of archaeology is done in the library; reading and researching. We can not afford to take mythology at face value. Forget ideas you have about lost cities and exotic travel. We do not follow maps to buried treasure and X never ever marks the spot." Pausing a moment, Professor Picard checked the time. "We've managed to finish a little early this afternoon. Take this time to review your notes and I'll be happy to answer any questions you may have. Professor Switzer will be back on Monday." 

Walking across the front of the room, Vash's innately sensual and graceful movements drew Picard's gaze to her long shapely legs. From the last row of seats a few feet in front of him he heard a young man's voice mutter glumly. 

"So long to Professor Legs. Hello old man Switzer." 

Two seats down from the first young man, a second young man replied,"Damn, do we really have to go back to having nothing to look at but Switzer after three weeks of gazing at such a lovely archaeological treasure?" 

"I wouldn't mind digging in her tomb," the first man chuckled. 

A young woman who had the misfortune of sitting between the two knaves reminded them in a quiet sing-song voice, "She's married." 

The first man retorted, "Yeah, the lady archaeology professor really likes relics from what I hear." 

"I suppose you think that double entendre was clever," Picard muttered under his breath to himself. Briefly, he wondered if he had ever been that young and boorish only to instantly realize he had indeed. 

The first young man continued, "Besides, what's the old man got that I haven't." 

"Just for starters, a really big . . . starship," the young lady quipped. Her tone of practiced patience was one Picard recognized. It easily could have been Marta Batanides chiding Cortin Zweller and himself. 

"Oh, come on," the first man urged. "Are you saying that you'd fuck me if I commanded a starship?" 

The woman laughed. "You have as much chance of getting a captain's log as I do." 

"Ouch, that's got to be worth two points at least," the second man chortled. 

Picard concurred. 

The young lady began gathering her things. "Have you two finished mentally undressing her yet?" 

The second young man groaned, "Ummm, wait a minute." 

The first man intoned, "she's taking off the jacket, unbuttoning her shirt, her tits lift when her hands raise up to unpin her hair. She runs her fingers through it and slowly releases it to cascade down her shoulders as she arches her back . . ." 

"You are both Neanderthals," the young lady interrupted the first man's fantasy. 

"Just call us Homo Erectus," the second young man offered. 

Picard groaned inwardly at the appalling pun. Vash stood in front of a table in the front of the hall busily answering questions from different students. Turning around to reach for a stray PADD, she bent over the table, her skirt molding itself to the slimness of her waist, the flare of her hips, and the perfectly proportioned roundness of her backside. He braced himself for the crass onslaught from Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. 

"Oh Mommy, come to Daddy," the first young man pantomimed with his hands in the air in front of him. 

"I don't foresee any problems excavating that," the second young man moaned softly. "What an ass." 

"My thoughts exactly." The young woman rolled her eyes. "You'd need more than excavating equipment to find your career if the legendary Captain Picard heard those comments." 

Picard resisted the urge to clear his throat. As humorous as their reactions would be, it would be utterly juvenile to take any action against the youngsters. Knowing that he was the one who would be enjoying the object of their lust later that afternoon was sufficient satisfaction. 

Just then Vash unbuttoned her jacket as she answered a question from a student down toward the front. Picard could see the buttons on her blouse pull slightly giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her white, lacy brassiere. "Oh Mommy, come to Daddy," he uttered in a low voice. 

"Anybody know the words to The Stripper?" the first young man inquired salaciously. 

That comment brought back an erotic memory of Vash dancing for him to that very song--stripping for him to that very song, actually. His body reacted to the memory, forcing him to find something to distract himself with. He couldn't very well walk down to greet her in his current condition. 

The second man leaned toward his friends. "Any bets that her undies match the bra?" 

That didn't help Picard's condition since he knew very well that Vash always wore matching brassieres and panties. An image of her in those lacy white scraps of cloth teased him, frustrating his efforts to undo what those erotic thoughts had done to him. 

"Like you'll live long enough to collect on that bet," the woman retorted. 

"I prefer to imagine that she doesn't wear panties at all . . . ever," the first young man replied. 

Picard very nearly groaned aloud at that image. 

The young woman begin to rise. "If you've finished, please mop up your drool before you leave." 

"Maybe I ought to ask her for some private tutoring in the fine arts of archaeology," the first young man suggested as he got up. The three began to leave the lecture hall. 

Picard imagined that conversation and chuckled at the image of Vash cleaning both their clocks without breaking a sweat, in her most outrageous stiletto heels, no less. He started down the center aisle to where Vash was picking up the PADDs on the desk. 

The young woman reacted to the sound of laughter from behind them. She straightened up quickly. "If you're looking for Professor Picard, she's down there, Captain Picard." She took visible delight in stressing both his rank and his name. 

The two young men exchanged horrified glances with one another. 

"How do you know that's Captain Picard?" the first young man hissed to the girl. 

The young woman nodded to Picard as she passed him. "Because I can count to four," she explained, gesturing toward her own collar. "And he laughed at the thought of you getting anything private from his wife." 

Picard was still chuckling as the two men scampered away quickly, their faces beet red. By the time he had fought his way through the throngs of escaping students, Vash had already disappeared into the private office off of the main hall. Leaning against the doorway, he surveyed the posh, elegant surroundings of Switzer's office. Unaware of his presence, Vash set the PADDs that she was carrying down on the large, ornate oak desk. She stretched, cat-like, to her full length before dropping her arms to let the jacket slip off her shoulders. He watched, entranced by the profile of the vision in front of him as she gracefully unfastened the top three buttons on her blouse, exposing a hint of the curves beneath. Her arms raised to unpin her hair, the action causing the mounds of her breasts to jut out evocatively. The silky tresses fell down around her shoulders, her back arching as her fingers combed through her hair. He could see that her eyes were closed, enjoying the feeling of release from what she called 'the stuffy world of academia'. 

"Truly every schoolboy's dream," he commented. 

Startled out of her reverie, she looked over at him. "What are you doing here already?" 

"Coming to ask Professor Legs for a private excavation of her archaeological treasures," he chuckled. Closing the door behind him, he locked it and crossed the room to where she stood. 

"What?" Vash asked, bemused. Seeing the expression on his face, she decided to play along. "Well, do you have the proper permits for such an expedition, sir?" 

He gathered her in his arms, inhaling the sweet fragrance of her perfume. "I believe I have the appropriate captain's log here somewhere. Would you like to help me find it?" 

Bursting out laughing, she rested her forehead against his chest. "I'm almost afraid to ask what has gotten into you." 

"The puerile fantasizings of some of your students." His hands dropped down to suggestively squeeze the firm, perfect curves of her derriere. 

"Stop that," she chided playfully as she pushed him back slightly. "And most of today's lecture was on the itch mites of Barradas III's Debrune ruins. I don't see how that lends itself to the type of puerile fantasizings you're insinuating here?" 

"Ma petite, you standing in the front of a room filled with stripling, red-blooded human males lends itself quite readily to such puerile fantasizings." Picard's eyes hungrily raked over her, his gaze feasting on every lush curve of her delicate frame. 

"Dressed like Marian the Librarian?" 

"Sitting in the back row, Butch and Sundance spent a good part of your lecture imagining your transformation from demure, erudite professor to sultry sex kitten and unknowingly regaling me with their flight of fancy." He slowly trailed a fingertip from the hollow of her throat down the creamy softness bared by the three open buttons of her blouse. In a rich, bedroom baritone, he continued, "they pictured you discarding your jacket before beginning to unbutton your blouse." He reached the fourth button and deftly unbuttoned her blouse all the way down to the waistline of her skirt exposing her generous cleavage which was only barely contained by the dainty, white lace brassiere. His finger traveled back up hearing her quick intake of breath as his fingertip glided over her warm, satiny skin. "Envisioning the perfect view of your beautiful breasts when you reach up to unpin your hair, arching your back so that it falls freely down to your shoulders." Burying his hands in her dark hair, he entangled his fingers in the silky tresses. "Wondering whether there was a matching pair of lacy, white panties . . . or if there were even panties at all." He lowered his face until his lips were just a hairsbreadth from hers and repeated in a low resonating whisper, "truly every schoolboy's dream." 

Vash's pulse raced at the wolfish timbre of Jean-Luc's masterful voice and his touch sent shivers of anticipation coursing through her. The sensations spread across her breasts causing the peaks to harden against her lacy brassiere. With mere inches of space between them, his fingers sensuously tangled in her hair; his clean, masculine scent wreaking havoc with her senses. In the expression of open lust on his face and the salacious glint in his eyes, she could see the randy, hell-bent-for-leather, twenty-one-year-old ensign he must have once been. When his mouth finally captured hers in an impassioned kiss she almost melted. He very slowly deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into the warm, moist depths. With her knees about to buckle, her arms fell to her sides and she gripped the edge of the desk to steady herself. 

Picard's body tightened with the sensation of the lush, fullness of her lips beneath his own, his tongue rummaging the depths of her mouth, searching for and finding hers. A fiery surge of arousal coursed through him as her lips and tongue battled his. Blood roared in his ears, his body painfully hard and he grasped her around the waist, picking her up off the floor to sit her on the edge of the immense desk. Searching fingers slipped beneath the hem of her skirt and caressed the long, smooth length of her firm thighs. There was no doubt about what he'd find, yet the erotic anticipation heightened his desires even further. He finally reached his goal, the delicate silk and lace brushing his fingertips and he lightly traced the edges, where the tiny wisp of cloth met skin. She bucked against the feather-light touch, her hands bracing themselves on the desk. He rasped hoarsely in her mouth, "there are panties . . .but do they match?" 

Vash inhaled sharply as his mouth slid from hers, his lips nibbling down along her neck. When he found the pulse point just below her ear, her head rolled back to bare her throat to his hot, questing mouth. The swift, teasing flicks of his tongue against the vulnerable spot sent heated waves of desire coursing over her entire body. With his mouth slowly making its way down the expanse of her skin toward her breasts, her nipples became so hard they ached. He traced the swell of her breasts, the damp rasp of his tongue dragging roughly against her sensitive skin. Every touch of his mouth felt like a lighting strike as Jean-Luc used only his lips and tongue to adroitly unhook the front clasp of her brassiere. The lace and satin fell away and he imprisoned one of her nipples to leisurely swirl his tongue over the taut peak. She arched into the heaviness, the sharp ache growing as he suckled first one breast, then the other. The heat from his tongue along with the pull of his mouth and the occasional scrape of his teeth soon had her panting with need. His hands moved to the hem of her skirt and nudged the material up to bunch around her hips, revealing her lace-trimmed, white satin panties. 

"The panties do indeed match," he uttered, his voice unsteady. The scalloped lace edging along the front scrap of satin had an appearance reminiscent of the wings on a butterfly. "Such an exquisite butterfly, all satin and lace," he teased roguishly in a deep resonating whisper. 

Long, mind-blowing, earth-shattering moments later and with tremors of pleasure continuing to course through her quivering body, Vash recognized the aftereffects of 'la petite mort.' Her hand harmlessly glanced off hard muscle as she playfully swatted his arm. "Son of a bitch, you did that on purpose." 

"I've never seen anything as beautiful or as erotic as you are when that happens. And to know you are experiencing it at my hands . . ." he trailed off as his appreciative gaze traveled over her. She was always so beautiful after lovemaking, with a rosy flush that highlighted her ivory skin, her lush lips swollen from his kisses. Glancing at the ceiling for a moment, he muttered under his breath, "relic, indeed." 

"What?" she asked, confused for a moment. Then recalling the conversation between the two students Jean-Luc had recounted it all made sense. "Ooooh, that explains it." 

"Explains what?" he sighed with gentle exasperation. He could only hazard a guess at the vast number of discussions that had begun with those words. It was one of those buttons she just loved to push, a button she had installed the day they met. 

"It was the musings you overheard from those two young swains that led to this delightful demonstration of male prowess." She stretched indulgently. 

"Those two? They were the quintessential young pups chasing a car that they would have no clue what to do with if they actually caught it." Shaking his head, he continued, "they were undisciplined, loud-mouthed, cocky young men with too much ego and too little wisdom to know how far out of their league they were." 

"Oh Johnny, how we mock what we once were." 

He rocked against her, smiling with satisfaction at the gasp that followed. "I always knew what to do with the cars I caught. What about you, ma petite?" 

"What about me? I never tried to catch any cars." 

"I mean, weren't there any periods in your life where you had a little too much ego and too little wisdom?" he inquired teasingly. 

Vash traced the welts that she had left in the smooth skin of his abdomen. "I've never had too much ego, but there was a time in my life where I may have been a bit...untamed." 

"Untamed?" he coaxed. 

"Let's just say kegs were tapped, men were used." 

**FINIS**   



End file.
